Glamour Shots
by oh-you-pretty-things
Summary: Fashion photgraphy was just his job, but she was never just a subject. Photographer!Hiccup/Model!Astrid. Modern AU.
1. Bird of Paradise

_AN: This was the result of a drabble request from tumblr for Photographer!Hiccup and Model!Astrid smut. It ended up being a lot longer than a drabble, so I'm just going to post it here, too. I might continue it, I might not._

The first time he met Astrid Hofferson, he'd been struck completely stupid by her looks. And he'd seen a lot of beautiful women in his time; it was an occupational hazard of fashion photography. Hiccup snorted to himself – _fashion_ photography. Being surrounded by devastatingly beautiful women was not the occupational hazard he'd anticipated for himself. He was supposed to be working for National Geographic, photographing large cats in the Amazon.

He knocked his left foot against the table leg and took a sip of coffee as he sorted through photographs. Or he would have knocked his left foot against the table leg if he still had it. He knocked the metal prosthesis that had replaced his foot after that vicious Jaguar encounter in Paraguay five years ago. It was safe to say that his life had taken a dramatic turn at that point and left him with a peg leg and an injured cub. That was now a full grown, shining black Jaguar. In his backyard.

Toothless was anything _but_ toothless and Hiccup had a special permit to keep him on an "animal reserve", also known as his father's summer home in the Hamptons. Although it was inconvenient to come into the city for work, the alternative – having to put Toothless in an _actual_ animal reserve – was far worse. The two hour commute was nothing compared to _that_. Not to mention, with his recent burst of popularity as a _fashion_ photographer, it was better for him to live so far away. It offered him a convenient sense of anonymity and privacy. It kept him separated from the world of high fashion. He was free to explore his hobbies, mainly developing devices to help him take better, more unique photographs of his subjects. And also there was the map he'd been developing entirely with tiny photographs of obscure landmarks. Anti-landmarks, he called them.

Up until yesterday, he'd had plans to pile Toothless into his car and expand his photograph collection of obscure and bizarre anti-landmarks for his map. But then the call came in from the magazine asking if he could find the time to please, please take some re-shots of one of the models he'd shot last month. Hiccup had almost turned it down until the editor said the two magic words: Astrid Hofferson.

The thing was – the _thing _was – he really _couldn't_ say no. The first time he'd met Astrid Hofferson, he'd been struck completely stupid by her looks. He was five. Sometimes he saw pictures of her and could barely coincide the sultry, leggy blonde with the scrappy girl he'd grown up with. Everything had changed when his mom had left when he was ten – his dad's political career was skyrocketing, popularity piggybacking on the sympathy vote at the time – and they'd moved from New Jersey to Manhattan. Like most kids who grow apart, Hiccup never saw the kids from Berk Elementary again. And he hadn't really cared too much – he'd had bigger things to worry about at his new private school. By the time he was thirteen, he was already planning his own excursions to exotic places like _Canada_ to photograph _bears_ in the wild. Dad always sent Gobber with him, an unwilling photography assistant if there ever was one. And that had been that. Until Paraguay.

Then he'd been forced to shift his interests to subjects closer to home while his leg was healing, while he was getting used to the prosthetic. The first girl he'd photographed had been his nurse in the hospital. Her name was Jenny and she had been uncommonly pretty, her plump face warm and friendly and classically sweet. She'd been so impressed with the candid shot he'd captured, soon he was taking photographs of all the nurses and his dad was sending his shots to various fashion photographers in his vast social network. It hadn't been the career that Hiccup had wanted, but it was the career he'd been careened into anyway.

And it wasn't that bad. Especially on the day when Astrid had walked through his door. After the shoot, they'd gone for coffee to catch up and it had been an _experience_. Astrid was not only breathtakingly attractive – she was well on her way to being the next big supermodel at this rate – but she was smart, witty, and possessed a sharp tongue. Hiccup _liked_ her more than he had any right to like a gorgeous model. And she, more miraculously, seemed to _like_ him. When she'd kissed him goodbye outside her Hell's Kitchen walk-up, Hiccup had known that his life had been irrevocably altered for the better. Now, it wasn't easy to maintain a relationship with a sought after model and he had no illusions, but every time he had the good fortune of a shoot with Astrid involved, he made sure to claim just a little of her time. Last time – maybe a month ago, for the shoot he was being asked to re-shoot – she had stayed at his studio overnight. They had talked all night. They had _touched_ and _talked_ and _kissed_ all night. It hadn't gone beyond that, but that had been fine with Hiccup. Because being near her was enough.

This re-shoot though? This was just downright serendipitous. She would be alone and if the great gods of lore would allow it, she would have a touch of free time after the shoot. Anticipation coursed through him and as always, he was sure that this time she'd have lost that spark in her eye that she reserved for him. She'd have come to her senses and started dating some devastatingly handsome model or actor or singer or whoever. Not a one-legged _fashion_ photographer, anyway.

Hiccup was startled from his early morning reverie when his assistant – another old friend from his NJ days, Fishlegs Ingerman – came bustling through the door.

"I'm sorry, Hiccup! They just—"

The 'they' in question were two tall, lumbering blonds – one male, one female. Astrid's entourage. They were wheeling in a dress rack and eying Hiccup's studio with derision. The male leaned over to the female and said in a loud stage whisper,

"Who's that?"

"The photographer, I think," the woman said, her eyes narrowed at Hiccup.

He stood up and strode toward them. "Hi, I'm Hiccup."

"What kind of a name is Hiccup?" the man sniggered.

Hiccup dropped his hand. "Well, it's not my _actual_ name."

The woman snorted. "Then why would you tell people that?"

"Ruff, Tuff. Leave him alone. Get lost."

Hiccup couldn't help but smile at the sound of Astrid's voice. She strode in the room, made up as she had been a month ago when he'd last seen her. Her hair had been swept up in a series of intricate braids and she wore a blue and green sequined, feathered…_thing. _It could hardly be called a dress, but Hiccup guessed that's what it was supposed to be. The shoot had been Birds of Paradise and Astrid was meant to be the personification of a peacock. She gave Hiccup a tiny smile.

"Fishlegs, that's…great. If you could all wait outside," Hiccup trailed off, his eyes locked on Astrid's.

"But, don't—"

"I'm _fine_, thanks," Hiccup snapped, giving Fishlegs a meaningful glance that seemed to go right over his head.

Still, he ushered the twins out of the studio, leaving Hiccup and Astrid alone. Hiccup ran a nervous hand through his hair and became vaguely aware that he should probably get it cut and soon. He'd be able to _braid_ it if it kept growing.

"Hi," Astrid said, a gentle smile on her lips.

"Hey. How are you?"

"Good," she said, shoulders straightening as she strode to white, empty doorframe of the set.

Hiccup had set up the studio to look as closely to the previous shoot as possible. White boxes draped with shimmering blue and green fabric; feathers _everywhere_; the stupid empty door frame that had nothing to do with anything. It was all there. He walked over to his camera and adjusted the settings while Astrid got comfortable in the set.

"Was there something wrong with the shots?" Hiccup asked. He had her caught in his view finder. She looked at the camera.

"No."

Hiccup stood up and frowned at her. "No? Then why?"

"Because I lied. I said I hated them all."

Hiccup felt like he should be angry, but he laughed instead, leaning back into his camera. "You could have just called me if you wanted to see me. You know, instead of sabotaging my career."

Astrid snorted and quieted quickly, her face serious. "Could I?"

Her voice was small and he zoomed the camera into her face, perfect blue eyes wide and vulnerable – he snapped the shot, unable to stop himself – and looked up at her. "Is that a serious question?"

"Yes."

"Then yes. Absolutely. All the time. Whenever you want. Do I honestly look like a man who can afford to say no to supermodels?"

Astrid's expression darkened. "Do you field a lot of calls from supermodels?"

Hiccup smirked. "Sure. _Professionally_."

"What about personally?"

"Not so much. Shall we do this?"

"Depends what _this_ is."

"The photos, since you told the magazine that you hated all of my work," his tone was light and teasing.

Astrid bit her bottom lip and rolled her eyes. "Where do you want me?"

Hiccup swallowed. There was a heavy undercurrent of innuendo in her words and she looked more than a little smug at his reaction.

"Maybe we should do some doorframe work," Hiccup said, his voice cracking unexpectedly.

"Like this?" she asked, straddling the door frame, lifting her leg and wrapping it around the frame.

"Maybe not so…," Hiccup trailed off again. Not so _sexual_, he'd wanted to say.

Astrid deliberately pressed herself into the doorframe and pushed out her rear. "Is this better?"

Hiccup stared at her. He'd worked with her a few times and she had never, ever been this unprofessional.

"What are you doing?" he asked, again completely unable to stop the words from falling out of his mouth.

Astrid straightened, tilted her head and shrugged. "Modeling."

"I hope that's not your idea of modeling."

"Are you telling me how to do my job?" she asked hotly.

Hiccup shook his head and crossed the room, his hands falling on her waist carefully, barely touching her as he arranged her into a suitable pose. Astrid tilted her head up toward his and he could smell her – makeup and coffee and heat. She nudged her hips back into his and Hiccup jumped.

"Astrid!"

Her eyes were fierce in a way that he'd never seen before. Not since they were children and she'd decided that she was going to _win_. Hiccup just wasn't sure what it was she wanted to _win _right now.

"What are you doing?" he repeated.

"Why didn't you call me?"

The question took him by surprise. "I…I figured you were, you know, _busy,_" he said, shrugging, "I thought if you wanted to talk to me, you'd call. You've never been shy, Astrid."

Astrid turned out of the pose and Hiccup groaned, knowing he'd have a hell of a time doing this shoot if she kept this up. She faced him, her hand clamped down on the hand he'd rested on her waist, keeping it on her. Her eyes bore into his.

"I thought we had something _special_, Hiccup."

Hiccup's smile was this unbidden, unwelcome thing that he couldn't halt. "I thought we did, too. I just also thought you…"

He looked away and swallowed.

"I what?"

His eyes moved up to hers slowly and he gave a slow shrug. "I thought you'd have more interesting people to _talk_ to."

Astrid craned her head up towards his, her lips _seeking_ contact. "We'll mess up your makeup," he whispered, her lips so close to his.

Something clattered out in the hallway and Hiccup shook his head, stepping away from Astrid, his hand burning where she'd been holding it. Astrid glared viciously at the door, clearly ready to throttle whoever had made the noise. Hiccup had his money on Fishlegs. Her expression was one of unadulterated rage and dramatic fierceness. The shot was perfect in his head, _that _expression.

"Wait," Hiccup said, excited, "Don't move an inch."

Astrid's face opened in surprise as Hiccup disappeared behind his camera. "No! Get angry again."

Astrid scowled prettily. "I am angry."

"How angry?"

"How angry would you be if you really liked someone and you thought they liked you, too, but they never called?"

Hiccup had caught a few shots of that gorgeous, enraged expression before popping his head up.

"I'm not angry," he said simply.

Astrid scoffed and turned her face away, another brilliant shot. She rolled her eyes and stared at the ceiling, the long, pale column of her throat exposed perfectly.

"That!" Hiccup exclaimed.

Astrid startled and glared. Hiccup ignored her angry expression. "Lean your shoulders back against the doorframe. Yes, like that. Stretch your arms over your head."

"You're infuriating."

"You're _perfect_," he mumbled, snapping a few shots. "Turn your face toward me."

Astrid rolled her head toward the camera and gave her very best scowl. Unfortunately for her, it was absurdly _right_ for the shot. Astrid shook her head and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, leaning her head back. Hiccup caught her in the viewfinder, but he didn't snap the shot. He stood up and just stared at her in utter awe. Did she honestly think he was a player? Who'd want to play _her?_

It was terribly unprofessional, but this entire shoot had been from the start. She didn't hate his work. She was looking for an excuse to be here with him. He didn't know why she just hadn't called him. But then he hadn't called her either. They really needed to work on this communication thing if they expected to make this work. The thought froze Hiccup – he _wanted_ to make this work, whatever this was. So, he was crossing the room and standing right in front of her, her head still thrown back, her eyes closed, brow furrowed.

"Are you sure you want me to call you?"

Her eyes popped open and she straightened her neck to look at him, arms still above her head. She frowned severely. "Of course I—"

Hiccup kissed her, his lips meeting hers with gentle fervour, one arm curving around her arched back, the other hand reaching up and pinning her wrists above her head. Astrid kissed him back with equal zeal, arching her back and pressing herself into his body. She broke the kiss, grinning.

"What about my makeup?" she mumbled.

"I don't care. You look better without it."

He released her wrists and curved his arm around her back, tugging her into him, her arms looping around his neck loosely. Hiccup kissed her throat, the delicate place beneath her ear, his teeth catching her earlobe and tugging gently. Astrid groaned, her hands falling between them and working at the buttons on his jeans. Desperately, frantically, their mouths met again, tongues touching, tasting, _delving. _Hiccup's hands skimmed her hips, fingers curling around the hem of that dress…thing and tugging upward. Astrid whimpered into his mouth and Hiccup pulled back, amazed.

"You're not—"

Astrid rolled her eyes. "Underwear lines. You're a photographer. How do you not know this?"

Hiccup grinned and Astrid reached up to tug his head back down to hers, kissing him with pent up frustration. Her other hand shoved at his jeans and boxers impatiently. Hiccup reached down to help and soon as his pants were around his knees, Astrid's hand had closed around the length of him, pumping determinedly. Hiccup groaned into her mouth, running his fingers between her thighs, feeling the slick heat of her as he slid two fingers inside her. She broke apart from him to gasp.

_"Now_," she hissed.

Hiccup pulled his fingers from her and cupped her ass, lifting her against the doorframe, her long legs wrapping around him, her arms reaching above and behind her for leverage as he pressed himself inside her. The world slowed in that smooth, slick instant – as though they had clicked together like corresponding puzzle pieces, linking in a way they should always have been linked to be complete. Each movement was tortuous bliss, a steady rhythm that ebbed and flowed with her gasps and their rising need. Hiccup's hips rocked against Astrid's, her frenzied bucking causing them to meet with erratic frequency. In the end, it was her biting her bottom lip while letting out a desperate, seeking noise from somewhere low in her throat that made him lose it. A few, final, frantic thrusts had them both crying out and sinking, sinking, sinking to the floor.

They laid there for what felt like an entire, blissful day, talking and laughing and cuddling. Both of their phones kept ringing and chiming, but neither of them really minded.

"You better not ignore my calls the way you're ignoring those," Hiccup said teasingly, his fingers toying with golden hair he'd liberated from its braids.

Astrid laughed and kissed his cheek. "I won't. I promise."


	2. Measures of Worth

Sunlight glinted off the golden strands splayed out across the pillow. She looked like a fairy tale princess. Hiccup honestly couldn't believe that this was his life. He couldn't believe that he got to wake up next to Astrid, that her hair could _be_ splayed across his pillows, that he'd get to see that flawless face in the morning, relaxed and sleep-smooth. The lighting was perfect. Making a frame around the shot with his thumbs and index fingers, he closed one eye, imaginary zoomed in on her sleeping face and whispered, "Click".

oOoOoOoOo

Astrid had been having a hard time with the paparazzi lately, especially with the _incident_ last month. Hiccup had seen it coming as much as he'd seen that Jaguar ready to pounce on him in Paraguay. There'd been a subtle shift in her expression – the slightest narrowing of her eyes, the tiniest downturn of her mouth. And, well, she'd always had a good punch.

In all honestly, Hiccup had felt a little guilty about not intervening, but Jim (and it was sad with paparazzi because you always ended up knowing their names, that's how often they were in your face) should have known better. He was asking invasive questions about their relationship. He'd implied that Astrid was sleeping her way to fame. She'd punched him in the face. In Hiccup's honest opinion, Jim had deserved it.

_Astrid_, on the other hand, didn't deserve all the trouble that punch had wrought upon her. Upon _them_, really, because Hiccup couldn't walk down the street without a camera in his face and he wasn't even an interesting subject. He'd had to start sending Fishlegs to get his morning coffee, which Hiccup absolutely hated. He had never wanted to be one of _those_ people. He enjoyed his freedom and now that freedom was being compromised. Not that this was Astrid's fault. It was just the business. The _fashion_ business. _His_ business. Hers, too. _Their_ business.

It was that business that he was attending to that afternoon. A closed shoot for _Vogue_. All morning Hiccup had been weaving between half-naked supermodels. All morning he'd been counting down the hours until he could drive back to the Hamptons and await Astrid's arrival. She'd flown out to Cabo for a shoot two days ago and he missed her horribly. Hiccup hadn't even know that that could happen. That he could go from single and carefree to missing his girlfriend of three months when she'd only been gone _two _days. But, god, he missed her. So much.

"That's great, Serena," he called out to the model currently draped across the red divan, "Get your chin down a little more. Yeah. Okay, straight into the camera. More. No, _More_. Right, that. Hold that. Perfect."

Hiccup wasn't sure when it had happened – some time very early in his career, if he had to guess – but there had come a time when the models had stopped being people to him. No, that wasn't fair. But they weren't…they just weren't _options_. They were _people_, but they were just absurdly beautiful people that he was hired to capture at their most glorious moments. They were works of art – all lines and curves and symmetry. Maybe it was the fact that he'd never have a chance with any of them. It was clear that what he had with Astrid was a fluke – a by-product of their shared childhood. Nostalgia had carved him a chance and things had turned out better than he'd ever dreamed. Not only was she breathtakingly beautiful, but he genuinely _liked_ her as a person.

Maybe more than liked, if he was honest. But it was early for that and he didn't want to startle off his Bird of Paradise (he'd taken to the nickname after _that_ shoot).

Wearily, Hiccup glanced at his watch and sighed. Another hour. The end was nigh. Thank god. Most of the models had been fairly reasonable to work with, but his tolerance only knew so much in terms of limits. It was the incessant _whining_ that some of them felt they were entitled to – and Hiccup _got _it. It was tiring work, having to look inhumanly faultless all the time. He got it even more now that he'd seen Astrid's extensive moisturizing routine (she was sloppy with it and lazy about it, too). He could only imagine what models who took themselves more seriously than Astrid did had to do in their daily routines. _Still_, Hiccup thought, tapping his prosthetic foot against the tripod, _there are worse things_.

"Okay," he sighed.

The model he was working with was decidedly tired, but he needed just a few more shots with her. She didn't seem to be understanding (or maybe she just didn't care) what Hiccup wanted from her. He set down his camera and started crossing the room when a loud thump against the studio door surprised him. The fact that he could hear it through the music that was blasting through the speakers was the really alarming part. Frowning, he glanced at the model.

"I'll be right back."

She shrugged disinterestedly.

There was something familiar about that thump; something that made his heart race, and as he got closer to the door, he could hear Fishlegs' voice and the irritated growl of his favourite person. With a broad smile, Hiccup wrenched the door open to find a terrified Fishlegs barring the door with his body, attempting to block out a makeup-free, slightly disheveled Astrid. Hiccup's favourite kind of Astrid.

"Astrid," he said grinning.

Astrid scowled. "Your idiot assistant won't let me in."

Hiccup smiled easily. "It's a closed shoot. He's just doing his job."

Astrid craned her neck to see inside. "What's so closed about it?"

"Vogue."

Astrid's eyes snapped back to his. "Vogue?" she asked, surprised, "You never said—"

"Closed shoot. Do you tell me all your employers?"

Astrid's nose twitched irritably. Hiccup knew she didn't and he never asked. There were all sorts of strange arrangements in contracts, things that couldn't be discussed. Astrid was probably more peeved that she hadn't been hired by _Vogue_. It was the one up Hiccup had on her and it likely bothered her more than she'd admit.

"I'm going to be done in half an hour, maybe. Do you mind waiting? We can head back to the house as soon as I'm done."

"Can I watch?"

"Closed shoot."

"Hire me as an assistant."

"You're really set on sabotaging my career, aren't you?"

"Are you afraid Vogue won't hire you again?"

Hiccup rolled his eyes. "Fine. Be quiet and don't _make a scene_."

Astrid's mouth fell open in mock indignation. "When have I ever made a scene?"

Hiccup sighed and smiled fondly, running a hand through his messy hair and turning back to the waiting model. He strode across the room to her.

"Just a couple more shots, Serena."

Serena – another obscenely beautiful (albeit mostly vacant) blonde with piercing blue eyes- was staring at the corner of the room where Astrid was waiting.

"What's _she_ doing here?"

"Assisting."

Serena spared Hiccup a dubious glance which made him shrug helplessly. He glanced over his shoulder at Astrid and smiled, but her eyes were narrowed and her face was hard. Hiccup shook his head and turned back to the model.

"Let's just get this over with," he said, putting his hands on Serena's hips and tilting her into the final pose, the one she wasn't getting.

He stepped back, tilting his head in appraisal, and then readjusted her again, nudging her legs further apart with his foot. He walked back to the camera and looked through the view finder. _Almost_. He stood up and jumped when he noticed Astrid standing right next to him. She gave Toothless a run for his money with the way she moved, like a deadly cat of prey.

"What do you want her to do?" she asked quietly, an edge to her voice.

Hiccup caught the narrowing of Astrid's eyes. She was _angry_. "She's just _slightly_ off, you know? I need her hips a little lower, her back a little straighter. It's easier if I just—"

"Let me do it."

"As—"

But she was already adjusting Serena. "How's that?" she called.

Hiccup looked through the viewfinder and grinned, giving her the thumbs up. "_Perfect_."

oOoOoOoOo

They had a spent at least a half hour on awkward, stilted small-talk with Astrid giving one word answers and Hiccup trying to lighten the mood. He _hoped_ she was just tired, but he suspected there was more to it.

"Alright, what's going on?"

Astrid turned her head to look at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Really? You want to play that game? What are you mad about?"

"I'm not mad."

"Uh huh, okay."

They were quiet, the only sound the intermittent rushing of cars on the road. Astrid had turned off the radio before they'd even left Manhattan. Then she'd stared out the window, leaning her chin on her hand. Hiccup waited. Astrid was never able to hold back her emotions, not for very long. Whatever was bothering her would come rushing out at some point. Soon.

"I didn't like you touching her," she mumbled.

"Touching who?"

"Serena."

"Astrid, sometimes I have to move models. It's my _job._ I've moved _you_."

"And look how that turned out."

"Swimmingly, I'd say." Hiccup gave her his most charming smile; Astrid responded with her most terrifying grimace.

"I don't like it," Astrid said, "Can't you have an assistant do it?"

"It's easier if I do it."

"Why do you have to do it at all?"

"It's my _job_."

"That you hate."

"I don't hate it," Hiccup defended.

His eyes flicked to her face in time to catch her eyebrows raised incredulously.

"I don't hate it," he repeated.

"You don't love it, either."

"Well, neither do you. With your job, I mean."

Astrid shrugged dismissively. "It pays the bills."

"Exactly."

They were silent again, Hiccup's hands tighter on the steering wheel than usual. He didn't like to argue. He didn't _want_ to argue about this. Not with Astrid. Not after having to argue so adamantly _against_ it for _years_. He'd accepted this career with a resigned, graceless defeat. One day, he'd had enough of arguing with his father about it and he'd done a shoot. For money. And then another and another. And every time he shot some vapid model dressed up like a jungle animal, he felt his real dreams slipping further and further away. He knew all this. He didn't need Astrid bringing it up.

Hiccup tried to ignore Astrid's steady gaze. He could feel her watching him.

"Why aren't you following your dreams, Hiccup?"

Her voice was feather-light and soothing, a direct contrast to his father's booming demands that he give up his dreams. Somewhere deep down, a part of him screamed and raged.

"There are reasons," he heard himself say.

"Like?"

Hiccup snorted and turned onto another stretch of road. He didn't want to talk about this. He didn't like being trapped in the car with no escape route. When the going got tough, Hiccup had always been the first to be _gone_ whether it be Canada or Zimbabwe or _Paraguay_. He was a runner and he knew it. He didn't appreciate being caged now.

It was his leg, of course. It was that _damn_ leg that kept him from running. It kept him from _living_. Instead of seeing the world, he was faking it in the studio. Instead of photographing wildlife, he was photographing some of the fakest human beings he'd ever met. He wasn't having the time of his life, he was acting out a pantomime. Astrid was right, he did hate it.

"I can think of at least one," he said angrily thumping his metal foot against the dead pedal.

Astrid didn't say anything and he thought that maybe – just _maybe_ – he'd managed to weasel out of this conversation. He ignored the disappointment that flooded his body at the thought. Because maybe having this conversation would make sense if he was having it with Astrid.

"This is about your leg." She said it as a certain statement and not a question.

Hiccup huffed.

"Hiccup, your leg shouldn't hold you back."

Another huff and his hands tightened on the steering wheel further. What did she know about being held back? Astrid had never been held back from anything. Hiccup's foot pressed down on the gas pedal. They weren't far from the house now. Then at least he could run from her. Shove a pillow over his ears. Pretend he couldn't hear her.

"Hiccup."

"Astrid, stop. Please. You can't possibly understand what it's like to have something _ruin_ your life."

Astrid shifted in her seat, twisting to face him. "Oh, I can't, can I?" she spat, "What do you know about _my_ life? What do _you_ know about _real_ problems?"

Hiccup felt the rush of adrenaline, the slow burn of anger climbing through his chest. His sideways glance was a dark glare. "I'm missing my _leg_, Astrid," he hissed.

"You're missing a _foot_. I'd give up my foot for half of the privilege you've had."

"You don't know anything about my life."

"Likewise," she said, crossing her arms and hugging her elbows to her body.

Hiccup bit his tongue – _literally _- to keep from snapping at her again. Because he already regretted it. Because it was true – he didn't know anything about her life. Not really. She'd been this violent little tomboy when he'd known her and now she was one of the most sought after models in NYC, maybe even the USA, maybe even the world. And she hated the celebrity. She hated the cameras that felt they had a right to snap her picture at any given moment. He knew _that_.

But then, what did she know about _loss_? What did she know about the pain of not having a mother or a foot or a _dream_? All she'd had to do was show up and bat her eyelashes at a modelling recruiter. Anyone with eyes in their head could see she was _gorgeous_.

He pulled the car into the driveway and turned off the engine. Neither of them moved a muscle. Neither of them spoke. Hiccup could hear her breaths, soft and even, and wondered what she looked like right then. He couldn't stop himself from looking. Her face was placid and calm, although her eyes burned with…_something_. Anger? Probably. He didn't want her to be angry with him. He wanted to hold her and be near her and listen to her laugh.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Astrid drew in a long breath and released it in a huff. She didn't look at him. "Your leg doesn't define you, Hiccup."

"Astrid, can we not—"

"No," she snapped, turning to look at him, her eyes liquid pools of a softer emotion, appealing to him to _listen_, "Look at my face."

Hiccup's brow furrowed and he shook his head slightly, not understanding.

"I know what it's like to have a _body part_ ruin _everything_, Hiccup."

"What? Astrid—"

"When people look at me, they see this face," she said, gesturing with her hand, "And they don't care about my brain or my heart or my _feelings_. I'm a _product_."

"You're not a product," Hiccup said, shaking his head vehemently and reaching for her.

She flinched out of his touch. "I'm a product. We all are, models. And like all products, we have expiry dates. So what happens when I reach mine?"

"Astrid, you don't have an expiry date."

She tilted her head, her eyes swimming with unshed tears as she bit her bottom lip. "I do. You know I do. Once the lines come in, or I gain weight, or whatever. Once my looks fade, there's nothing left."

"No," Hiccup said, shaking his head, "No. You have _way_ more to offer than your face, Astrid. Your face doesn't define you at all."

His fingers traced a line from her temple to her chin, their eyes meeting as he shrugged. "It's just an added bonus on an already exceptional package."

Astrid's lips twitched. "So if my face fell off, you'd still want me."

"I'll always want you. I—"

Astrid released her seatbelt and leaned across the console, her lips meeting Hiccup's with the same careful passion they always had for each other. Soft lips and velvet tongue, teeth clacking accidentally as she crawled into his lap. Her hands were on either side of his face as she kissed him, warm, familiar and confining in a way that Hiccup adored. It made him feel like he was _hers_. That she wanted _him_. All of him, even when some of him was missing.

Her hands slid down the sides of his face and neck, lingering on his shoulders before snaking down to his waist, and then further. It took Hiccup by surprise when she released his seatbelt and reached down to release the seat, sending him reeling backwards with Astrid firmly straddling his hips. Astrid's hands skirted the hem of his shirt, warm fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of his belly, catching hard on the button of his jeans.

"Astrid," he laughed, "Maybe we should go inside."

"Mm, too far," she murmured against his lips, kissing his mouth, his neck, the tantalising spot behind his ear.

He groaned and gripped her hips, pressing them harder against his, grinding in desperation of satisfaction.

"It's like, twenty feet to the bed," he forced out.

Astrid bucked her hips against him and his hands slid up to cup her breasts. He wanted her splayed out on his bed, comfortably beneath him, not cramped in the car, still half-clothed. The first time had been half-clothed and ever since then, he'd vowed never again. Because he wanted to feel her skin against his; he _needed _her heat.

Hiccup sat up, which Astrid used as an opportunity to wrap her long legs around him and pull him even closer, her arms around his shoulders, her mouth moving on his. He reached for the door handle and pushed the door open. Astrid pulled back and glared at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking you inside."

"What? Why?"

Hiccup nuzzled her neck, sucking gently on the smooth, creamy skin below her jaw. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders as he whispered in her ear, "So I can _show you_ how much I want all of you."


End file.
